


There’s No Tranquility in Death

by Killmongerrrr



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Banjo is a con-artist, Banjo’s real name is Benjamin, Crime AU, Dr. Fear is dead, Francesca Norris has PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ryan can see ghosts, Ryan is a serial killer, Ryan is haunted by spirits, Starring: Shane Madej as CC Tinsley, Suicidal Ideation, and Ryan as Ricky Goldsworth, i don’t know what else to call this au tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killmongerrrr/pseuds/Killmongerrrr
Summary: “Is it peaceful?” He asks one night, sad eyes watching the jerky movements of his ceiling fan.The bed dips as the spirit lies beside him. “No, it isn’t.”___CC Tinsley, along with his partner Francesca Norris, is a detective investigating a string of vigilante murders where victims are found disemboweled. Ricky Goldsworth is a medium who’s haunted by spirits. He kills their killers to help them pass on, but in turn is haunted by those he murders.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing fanfiction :) make sure to comment and give me feedback so I can improve 
> 
> Warning for a lot of violence in this chapter

Ricky Goldsworth is the perfect mix of unstable and intimidating. He’s a ball of explosive energy who dons cheery smiles like a mask and wears knives under his clothing. They say something’s off about him, something you just can’t pin point. They don’t see the ghosts that hide in his eyes and the demons that leave his refrigerator open at night. No one believes him when he tells them either.

It gets to a point where he stops telling people, where the only people he can confide in are shopping-center psychics and short-term girlfriends who don’t believe him anyway. Sometimes he prays for the ghosts to leave his apartment, but they never do. It isn’t until they start speaking to him that he understands what they want.

The first to talk to him is little boy named Jeremy. Goldsworth tries to ignore him at first, but the pleas for attention linger in the back of his mind like a vague memory. It isn’t until he sees little Jeremy’s blurred out body on the news that he pays attention to the sad little voice.

“What happened?” He asks some time after that, kneeling so that he’s at eye-level with the small child.

“Uncle Jamie doesn’t like it when I scream.” Jeremy mumbles, looking down at his feet and sniffing wetly.

_This is why they are here_ , he realizes. He gives the boy a reassuring smile. “It’ll be ok,” he starts. “You’ll be ok.”

____

  He makes sure he’s prepared first, reading up on unsolved murders and buying the cheapest pair of gloves he can find. 

  Jeremy helps him find “Uncle Jamie” with a promised game of ball, and Goldsworth doesn’t feel a single ounce of guilt as he knocks on the door to the man’s home. When he answers, Ricky puts up a mask of skittishness, asks if he can use the man’s phone to call his insurance company.

Jamie lets him in, making light conversation as he locks the door behind him. He thinks it’s funny, how gullible the man is. Especially for someone who’d just weeks ago killed a small child. 

He smiles nonetheless and nods along with Jamie’s casual remarks about the weather and recent news. The man is welcoming and warm, acting as if he wasn’t the reason for some of that news. 

“Did you hear about that boy who was found inside of a laundry basket? Pretty messed up stuff, man.” He says casually, shrugging his shoulders for extra effect. 

And like that, Jamie isn’t so confident anymore. He falters and nods, nervously wringing his hands. A ball of excitement forms in his chest, and he’s already itching to take care of it.

”You know they think it might be the uncle who killed him,” he pauses, turning to face the man with a knowing smile. “They think it might be you, James.”

”I didn’t do shit. They can’t put anything on me.” Jamie spits, taking a step back.

Ricky pats his shoulder in understanding. “Don’t worry, you won’t be going to jail. I won’t tell anyone.” He says. With that, he tightens his fingers around Jamie’s shoulder and pulls him forward, wedging a knife into his stomach. 

Jamie’s eyes widen as he slowly peers down at the blade, hands lingering around it like he’s afraid to touch it. Ricky tilts his head to look at his work, tightening his grip so he can slide the blade down the man’s abdomen. 

Jamie chokes helplessly and coughs out a mouthful of blood into his face. He scowls and angles his head away, letting go of the knife and reaching up to push the man’s head onto his shoulder. Ricky wraps an arm around the twitching form and holds him close to his own body, making sure that no blood seeps onto the floor. 

He lowers the body to the ground once it’s completely limp, carefully removing the knife and straightening. Stepping away he peers over the crime scene. It looks.. incomplete. He shakes his head and slinks out of the house. 

Something unravels in his chest and he doesn’t look back. 

___

He never got to play ball with Jeremy. In fact, after he kills Jamie, Jeremy is nowhere to be found. It’s when he’s lying in bed that a loud thump sounds from his closet. He’s completely on edge as he approaches the closet door, hoping that it’s just Jeremy. 

When he opens it, all he sees are the helpless eyes of Jeremy’s uncle and the entrails leaking from his body. Screaming, Ricky slams the door shut and backs away.

He wonders if killing the man was worth being haunted by him.


	2. The Dead Talk Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to Francesca Norris and CC Tinsley + Ricky Goldsworth isn’t having a good time with his new haunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some triggering language and crime scene descriptions

“So give me the gist of what happened.” Francesca Norris says, her hands tucked in her coat pockets as she steps around the body. The apartment reeks of something old and dead and she has move her scarf over her nose to shield her senses away from the horrid smell. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a woman crying to a reporter; most likely the victim’s spouse.

“James Cunningham. His wife found him this morning. No sign of a struggle or forced entry.” CC Tinsley says, crouching down next to the corpse. She doesn’t know how he can get so close to it without keeling over from the odor. “They think he might’ve known the killer.”

“Are we not considering the wife as a suspect?” Francesca asks, looking over at the crying woman.

“Nah, she has an alibi. She was sleeping at a friend’s house.” Tinsley explains, shifting so that he’s kneeling on a single knee. “She was staying over there for a birthday.”

“No witnesses?”

“Well the lady upstairs, Mrs. Hopkins, said she saw a car take off around the time of the murder, but she didn’t get a good look at it.” He answers, standing up and dusting off his clothes. Tinsley is a relatively lanky man, with too-long limbs and a too-big head. Of course, she’d never tell him that to his face.

He looks tired, his hair unkempt and his clothes hastily thrown on. She doesn’t blame him. It’s too early in the morning to be dealing with this kinda shit.

Francesca looks away from him to observe the body curiously. The victim was disemboweled pretty messily, suggesting an amateur killer, but there’s a lack of blood despite the excessiveness of the crime.

“I’m thinkin’ that the unsub was pretty confident when coming here. They had a purpose and didn’t waste time gettin’ shit done.” She muses. “As for the lack of blood, I can’t really explain that until we do a luminol test.”

“I don’t know if this’ll sound stupid or not but.. what if it’s a vigilante murder?” Tinsley suggests hesitantly.

“What makes you say that?”

“You remember that case with the boy who was found in a laundry basket? Well apparently this guy was a suspect.” He shakes his head sadly. “The neighbors say the guy abused the poor kid. Maybe the unsub knew something the police didn’t.”

Francesca snorts. “You sayin’ this guy’s a psychic or some shit?”

Tinsley scoffs, offended. “Fuck no, Fran. You know I don’t believe in that shit.”

He looks genuinely frustrated so she drops it. “Whatever you say; Anyway,” She says, turning away from him, “Maybe the disembowelment is the unsub’s way of exposing the victim? Both literally and metaphorically.”

Tinsley shrugs. “Possibly. Just don’t bring up any of that supernatural shit again.” He says, yawning tiredly.

“You look pretty worn out. How much sleep did you get last night?” She asks worriedly. She didn’t need him passing out at a crime scene.

“Not a lot, was readin’ up on that case I mentioned earlier.” He replies. “I need some fresh air, this apartment fuckin’ reeks.” The man says, already heading out of the door.

Francesca shakes her head and follows him, removing her scarf from around her nose once they’re outside.

“So how are you doing? I haven’t seen you since we recovered you from Pennhurst.”

Francesca shrugs. She really wishes they didn’t have to talk about this. “I’m doing better. Had to take off a few months from the job to get back on track. Fear really fucked me up.”

“He’s dead y’know. He died at the hospital.”

She’s quiet for a bit before nodding. “I know, I know.”

She wonders why she feels so guilty about it.

______

He’s lying in bed again when he feels it. A drop of something spills right behind his ear, and all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut.

“They found my body y’know,” Jamie drawls, blood spilling from his mouth and reddening his teeth. “They’re gonna lock you up and fuck your brains out in there.”  
The man’s breathing is severely labored as he tangles his hand in his hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to look at him. Ricky gasps in pain and reaches up to pry away the hand.

It’s only when the hand lets up that Ricky jerks away and rolls himself off of his bed, scooting against the wall as the spirit leers at him. Blood from Jamie’s entrails spill on his white sheets and he has to close his eyes as the ghost approaches him. He’s about to scream until the lights of his bedroom flicker off. There’s a pause before wet footsteps sound to his right, seemingly leading away.

When he gets enough confidence to cut the lights back on, there’s a splash of blood on his clothes and face, and there’s a trail of it leading into a power socket.

It takes him at least an hour to scrub away all the blood away and one more to wash his clothes out. It’s only when he’s taking a shower that he hears it. There’s a loud thump and then the sound of glass breaking. His breath catches in his throat and he stills out of fear. The noises halt and he thinks it’s fine to come out-  
  
The bathroom door rattles with the force of whatever’s outside. Goldsworth gasps wordlessly and backs into a corner, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Let me in! I’ll slaughter you like a pig you fucking bitch! They’ll never find you!” Jamie screams on the other side, beating at the door like a rabid dog. Then there’s a sudden halt, followed by the sound of laughter and the squelch of something wet on the other side. Blood seeps through under the door but Goldsworth doesn’t move.

When he finally opens his eyes, blood is spouting out of the shower faucet and he’s once again covered in it.

He’s so tired of the smell of bleach.


	3. Fake Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ricky encounters a rather violent ghost, cue bad decisions.

The next ghost is a 32 year old woman who was beheaded by her husband.

Alexis Addams appears to him as a severed head on his nightstand and a wandering body in his kitchen. Ricky tries to ignore her as he’d done with Jeremy; but she is there when he wakes, and there when he sleeps. 

His dreams fill with images of her sunken eyes and twisted body. He wakes up screaming and fighting away at the hands that push him against his bed; sometimes gasping for air and clawing at fingers that tighten around his neck, forcing him back to sleep.

It isn’t long before she starts throwing things.

It starts with a glass bowl that collides with the back of his head and knocks him out for a few hours. He doesn’t sleep for two days after that one, and his paranoia grows. She throws a knife at him next, and he’s lucky it only cuts away a few strands of his hair. It’s only when the woman forces his hand into a burner that he gives up trying to ignore her.

He yanks his hand out of her grip and backs away, nails digging into his wrist in some desperate attempt to numb the pain. The spirit jerks to look at him, and her head seems to loll uselessly to the side like a dislocated limb. There’s a series of cracking and her legs twist out of place, bending into grotesque broken stilts that only the dead could walk on. Alexis advances toward him, left knee pointing out as she drags her overturned foot with her.

Ricky gasps and freezes up, and everything goes numb as he watches the spirit stumble towards him like a broken puppet. The room is achingly quiet besides the constant clicks of bone and the disgusting squelches of blood That Wasn’t There Before. He squeezes his eyes shut once she’s close enough to smell him, listens to her wheezing breaths which expel in musky puffs of air.

Then it’s quiet. He opens his eyes and there’s nothing there, the blood is gone and so is she. 

Goldsworth decides then that he is leaving. Not permanently, maybe for a night or two. He packs basic necessities and leaves his apartment like a ghost. He doesn’t pack a spare change of clothes though, not when his dresser is overflowing with blood that probably doesn’t really exist.

He wonders if any of it does, really.  
___

That night, Ricky finds himself in a church, his hands clasped together and his head bowed low. The only sound is the soft sweeping of a broom against dust as Father Thomas cleans up messes left by earlier church participants. 

Eventually, the man comes to sit with him, propping his broom against a church pew. He doesn’t speak, simply sits and waits.

Ricky lifts his head, his hands dragging down his face to expose red-rimmed eyes. His pride doesn’t let him face the pastor, so he concentrates his vision on a green stain on the wall. 

“Lord forgive me.” He whispers.

Father Thomas puts a hand on his shoulder. He knows it’s to comfort him, but it only serves to make him feel worse than he already does.

“I’m about to do something terrible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long. Been tryna figure out how to write this chapter so sorry if it’s short and kinda sucks a little  
> ___  
> I came back to change the last part. Wasn’t satisfied with the original ending to this chaptor


	4. Sinners and Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another body, and Francesca attempts to consult an old friend.

It’s a cold day when the next victim springs up. A body lay on a sidewalk next to a small bar, spread out and disemboweled like the last victim. Reporters and onlookers struggle to get a good look at the scene, to which they are halted by wary policemen and glaring yellow tape.

“His name’s Leonard Addams. His wife was murdered recently but she wasn’t disemboweled.” Tinsley starts, and his head turns to look at Francesca. “The bartender found him early this morning.”

Francesca makes a noise of acknowledgement, her hands pushed into her coat pockets. “Was the bartender questioned yet?”

Tinsley nods and cups his hands around his mouth to blow hot air into them. His bags seemed to have grown darker over the weeks, but at least he seems less ruffled. 

“Said he didn’t see anything himself, but cameras caught a figure dumping the body.” A slight breeze makes the man tense up. “God it’s cold.” He complains, his hands shaking as he rubs them together. 

Francesca rolls her eyes. This is nothing compared to the cold winter nights she’d spent in Pennsylvania. The thought makes her mind buzz uncomfortably until suddenly, a thought occurs to her. “Awfully public place to leave a body. Way different from last time.” She muses, looking around. 

Tinsley nods. “Long time period in between the murders.. so I’m guessing our unsub’s been going through some shit.” 

“Maybe trying to gain confidence to do it again?” She suggests. 

Tinsley nods thoughtfully. “I’d say he’s succeeded. This is a pretty risky area. Higher possibility of there being witnesses. He must know the area enough to memorize where the security cameras are.” He pauses. “But why here? This place has to mean something.” His eyes glaze over in thought, trying to put the pieces together.

She nods with a little click of her tongue, but her attention is focused elsewhere. Crouching down, Francesca sees a sliver of white peeking out from the victim’s mouth.

“Tinsley, look at this.” She says, grabbing the man’s attention. Snapping a pair of gloves on, she carefully pries the white sliver from the victim’s mouth.

“What is it?” Tinsley asks, staring at what looks to be a rolled up piece of paper. 

“I think it’s a note.” Francesca says, unfurling it curiously. Her eyes dance over the words before she looks up at Tinsley, who stares at her expectantly. 

“I think you were right about your vigilante theory.” 

‘PEEL THE SKIN FROM THE SINNER’, the note reads, ominous and wet to the touch.

A figure stands amongst the crowd of onlookers, a warm coffee clutched in his gloved hands. Ghosts dance in his eyes.

_____  
It’s a cold day when the next victim springs up. A body lay on a sidewalk next to a small bar, spread out and disemboweled like the last victim. Reporters and onlookers struggle to get a good look at the scene, to which they are halted by wary policemen and glaring yellow tape.

“His name’s Leonard Addams. His wife was murdered recently but she wasn’t disemboweled.” Tinsley starts, and his head turns to look at Francesca. “The bartender found him early this morning.”

Francesca makes a noise of acknowledgement, her hands pushed into her coat pockets. “Was the bartender questioned yet?”

Tinsley nods and cups his hands around his mouth to blow hot air into them. His bags seemed to have grown darker over the weeks, but at least he seems less ruffled. 

“Said he didn’t see anything himself, but cameras caught a figure dumping the body.” A slight breeze makes the man tense up. “God it’s cold.” He complains, his hands shaking as he rubs them together. 

Francesca rolls her eyes. This is nothing compared to the cold winter nights she’d spent in Pennsylvania. The thought makes her mind buzz uncomfortably until suddenly, a thought occurs to her. “Awfully public place to leave a body. Way different from last time.” She muses, looking around. 

Tinsley nods. “Long time period in between the murders.. so I’m guessing our unsub’s been going through some shit.” 

“Maybe trying to gain confidence to do it again?” She suggests. 

Tinsley nods thoughtfully. “I’d say he’s succeeded. This is a pretty risky area. Higher possibility of there being witnesses. He must know the area enough to memorize where the security cameras are.” He pauses. “But why here? This place has to mean something.” His eyes glaze over in thought, trying to put the pieces together.

She nods with a little click of her tongue, but her attention is focused elsewhere. Crouching down, Francesca sees a sliver of white peeking out from the victim’s mouth.

“Tinsley, look at this.” She says, grabbing the man’s attention. Snapping a pair of gloves on, she carefully pries the white sliver from the victim’s mouth.

“What is it?” Tinsley asks, staring at what looks to be a rolled up piece of paper. 

“I think it’s a note.” Francesca says, unfurling it curiously. Her eyes dance over the words before she looks up at Tinsley, who stares at her expectantly. 

“I think you were right about your vigilante theory.” 

‘PEEL THE SKIN FROM THE SINNER’, the note reads, ominous and wet to the touch.

A figure stands amongst the crowd of onlookers, a warm coffee clutched in his gloved hands. Ghosts dance in his eyes.  
_____

Francesca stays at the station until she’s practically forced out. Her head swarms with possibilities of who it could be, yet she’s constantly at a loss. Tinsley bids her farewell once he’s grown tired of false doors that lead to brick walls, but she knows that sleep is the one thing he won’t get.

Her own night is spent with unease and intrusive thoughts, her thoughts plagued with the oppressing odor of death and the words from the note. It’s only when she’s woken up by the irritating blaring of her phone alarm that an idea roots itself in her head. 

Francesca calls Ricky later that morning. They hadn’t talked in a while, not since the day before she went undercover. He doesn’t pick up the first time, nor does he do so the fifth time she tries, so she ends up giving up. Her mood is sour for the rest of the day, and she tries to ignore the mask Tinsley puts up when she inevitably snaps at him. It’s only when the familiar darkness covers the city again that her phone rings from it’s place on her nightstand. 

It’s 3:09am when Francesca sees Ricky Goldsworth’s caller id and picks up the phone ready to yell and chastise him for ignoring her all day. The crickets go silent and traffic seems to quiet as a tired voice rings in the night’s sudden stillness. 

“Please stop calling this number.” The voice- no, Ricky says.

“Why won’t you talk to me? I’m sorry I was gone so long but that doesn’t mean you fucking-“. She stops and reconsiders her next choice of words. “This is my job. You said I could always consult you for help.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause before-

“Dr. Fear said hi.” Ricky says at last, and there’s a slight maliciousness in his voice that make her hands shake. He hangs up almost immediately and she drops the phone.

That night she dreams of syringes and sickness.


End file.
